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The Pleasures of Hating by Laure-Anne Bosselaar | Tuesday, July 18, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor
The Pleasures of Hating by Laure-Anne Bosselaar | Tuesday, July 18, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

I hate Mozart. Hate him with that healthy
pleasure one feels when exasperation has

crescendoed, when lungs, heart, throat,
and voice explode at once: I hate that!

there’s bliss in this, rapture. My shrink
tried to disabuse me, convinced I use Amadeus

as a prop: Think further; your father perhaps?
I won’t go back, think of the shrink

with a powdered wig, pinched lips, mole:
a transference, he’d say, a relapse: so be it.

I hate broccoli, chain saws, patchouli, bra-
clasps that draw dents in your back, roadblocks,

men in black kneesocks, sandals and shorts —
I love hating that. Loathe stickers on tomatoes,

jerky, deconstruction, nazis, doilies. I delight
in detesting. And love loving so much after that.
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He proves by algebra that Hamlet's grandson is Shakespeare's grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his own father.
-- Ulysses by James Joyce
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Often overlooked in Ulysses is the fierce patriotism hidden beneath wordplay.
"-It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked looking-glass of a servant."

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"Nearly eighty years ago we began by declaring that all men are created equal; but now from that beginning we have run down to the other declaration, that for some men to enslave others is a "sacred right of self-government".… Our republican robe is soiled and trailed in the dust.… Let us repurify it. Let us re-adopt the Declaration of Independence, and with it, the practices, and policy, which harmonize with it.… If we do this, we shall not only have saved the Union: but we shall have saved it, as to make, and keep it, forever worthy of the saving."

--Abraham Lincoln, 1854
#WeThePeople #MorePerfectUnion #WePressOn

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Celebrating Giacomo Leopardi’s 219th birthday (the 23rd) with a poem by James Wright - more at Paris Review

In Memory of Leopardi
I have gone past all those times when the poets
Were beautiful as only
The rich can be. The cold bangles
Of the moon grazed one of my shoulders,
And so to this day,
And beyond, I carry
The sliver of a white city, the barb of a jewel
in my left clavicle that hunches.
Tonight I sling
A scrambling sack of oblivions and lame prayers
On my right good arm. The Ohio River
Has flown by me twice, the dark jubilating
Isaiah of mill and smoke marrow. Blind son
Of a meadow of huge horses, lover of drowned islands
Above Steubenville, blind father
Of my halt gray wing:
Now I limp on, knowingth
The moon strides behind me, swinging
The scimitar of the divinity that struck down
The hunchback in agony
When he saw her, naked, carrying away his last sheep
Through the Asian rocks.

Essays and Dialogues
by Giacomo Leopardi
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52356

The Poems of Leopardi (tr. Francis Henry Cliffe)
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53020

(Canti in Italian are on their way...)
Haakon Meland Eriksen
 
SPAM, SPAM, wonderful SPAM! QR code

smiling face with open mouth and tightly-closed eyes
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This is the Muslim tradition of sci-fi and speculative fiction – Muhammad Aurangzeb Ahmad | Aeon Ideas

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Think invisible men, time travel, flying machines and journeys to other planets are the product of the European or ‘Western’ imagination? Open One Thousand and One Nights – a collection of folk tales compiled during the Islamic Golden Age, from th...
Eric H. Johnson
 
Let's not discount Christian Science Fiction: turning water into wine has its merits.
 
Frankly, I never thought of considering the Thousand and One Nights as speculative sci-fi, but thinking it well there are some stories that rival Verne in their imagination.

PS: Apparently posting using my server's Hubzilla account works as intended.
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Yes, if you are an approved connection, it bypasses the moderation.
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https://www.nytimes.com/2017/06/09/books/chana-bloch-died-poet-and-translator.html

Ms. Bloch produced sparkling translations of the Israeli poets Dahlia Ravikovitch and Yehuda Amichai, and, with her first husband, rendered the biblical Song of Solomon into English that the poet Jeredith Merrin, in The Southern Review, called “accessible, joyous and frankly erotic.”


Her tranlsation of the Song of Solomon restored its original beauty and depth.

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Here is the Offline Reference Library list of volumes. Please print and keep in a safe place in case of deluge.

Communication protocol with the Librarian is still under construction.


https://parlementum.net/cloud/parlementum/2017-05/ReferenceLibraryOffline.pdf

Updates will be announced as volumes are added.
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A 91 Year-Old Peruvian Man Translated 'Don Quijote' to Quechua

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The man, descended from 15th century Inca ruler Tupac Yupanqui, has spent more than a decade translating the classic Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra book.

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ca 1964-1965
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Leap! Leap up, and lick the sky!
-- Moby-Dick or, the Whale
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The first theory of evolution is 600 years older than Darwin

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Nasīr al-Dīn Tūsī was a Persian polymath and prolific writer: An architect, astronomer, biologist, chemist, mathematician, philosopher, physician, physicis
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Ode to the Joyful Ones by Thomas Lux | Friday, May 19, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor
Ode to the Joyful Ones by Thomas Lux | Friday, May 19, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

Shield your joyful ones.
                    —from an Anglican prayer

That they walk, even stumble, among us is reason
to praise them, or protect them—even the sound
of a lead slug dropped on a lead plate, even that, for them,
is music. Because they bring laughter’s
brief amnesia. Because they stand,
talking, taking pleasure in others,
with their hands on the shoulders of strangers
and the shoulders of each other.
Because you don’t have to tell them to walk toward the light.
Because if there are two pork chops
they will serve you the better one.
Because they will give you the crutch off their backs.
Because when there are two of them together
their shining fills the room.
Because you don’t have to tell them to walk toward the light.
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I'll be bringing back some of the pages from the classic EncycloMundi Wiki. I'm starting with one of my favorite characters in literature, Lawrence Boythorn. Boythorn appears in Bleak House by Charles Dickens, and is modeled after writer, poet, and gadfly Walter Savage Landor.

https://parlementum.net/page/parlementum/lawrence_boythorn
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It was my very first project with Linux and servers. I ran it using mediawiki. It's offline now, but I have all the pages locally and on github.

"The world as it is and as it should be."
Manuel
  
Bleak House, en español Casa desolada...
Manuel
  
I did not know you're so dickensian ;-)
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“Living, there is no happiness in that. Living: carrying one’s painful self through the world. But being, being is happiness. Being: Becoming a fountain, a fountain on which the universe falls like warm rain.”

― Milan Kundera, Immortality
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To the Woman at the Retirement Center by Phebe Hanson | Thursday, May 11, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor
To the Woman at the Retirement Center by Phebe Hanson | Thursday, May 11, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

You tell me when you were eight, newly arrived
from Czechoslovakia, your teacher made you memorize
a poem that began “I remember, I remember
the house where I was born.” Stranger
to our language you proudly learned all the verses,
practiced them over and over in front of your mirror,
but at the program when you stood to recite
in front of all the parents and other students,
you got as far as “I remember, I remember,”
and forgot all the rest and had to sit down shamefaced.

Now you live in this ten-story retirement center
where you cried most of the first month, so lonesome
for your son, transferred to another city, who couldn’t
take you with him because his new house wasn’t
big enough. Sometimes, you tell me, you slip away
from the recreation director who wants to teach you
how to turn plastic bleach bottles into bird feeders,
sneak up to your room, turn on the Bohemian radio station,
dance barefoot all by yourself, as you used to

years ago in the house where you were born.
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I think if you look at me as an aesthete with poor fashion sense the seeming contradictions of my social media life disappear.
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Moonrise, Aurora, Nebraska by Twyla Hansen | Friday, May 12, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor
Moonrise, Aurora, Nebraska by Twyla Hansen | Friday, May 12, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

No Ansel Adams
but the snapshots we captured
through the open car window
on our eight megapixel cell phones

on the side of the road off an exit ramp
as truck taillights streaked eastbound
opposite the earth’s rotation
in startling calm that evening
a mere dot-glow above dun fields

Look, life is like this, filled
with moments of meaning
paid attention to or not
but we tried we lingered

and sure enough it is here
looming in memory-mind
the fat orange ball above horizon
inching up into blank navy air
the full moon in early spring

we drove toward in silence
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